


Knowing When To Fold

by Tridraconeus



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Cheating at Cards, Choking, Light BDSM, M/M, Poker, Spanking, older bottom, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: “Five card draw. I’m sure you know how to play,” Fuse drawled from his place at the head of the table. It was one of the basic ones Legends had in their apartments on the complex, sturdy enough to withstand accidentally being sat on or tossed across the room once or twice (but never a third; with the amount of times Revenant’s had been replaced, the math was simple) but plain and rather small. A deck of cards sat in the center, Fuse himself framed by a scattered minefield of tumblers and glasses. He barely ever got drunk, Caustic had learned. He was satisfied in letting others get wasted until they were willing to let him talk at them until they sobered up enough to totter on home or Elliott kicked them out.
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Fuse | Walter Fitzroy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	Knowing When To Fold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeauTRex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeauTRex/gifts).



> Breathplay is dangerous, don’t actually choke your partner!

Fitzroy had learned how to use the compound intranet and messaging system. Most often it was used to communicate noise complaints or offers to make dinner for the group from a homesick prospect or Legend; recently, Fuse had been advertising card games, arm wrestling, or shooting contests from the comfort of his apartment. Caustic had held out for a month, roughly, listening to Elliot complain about his luck, Natalie gush about how he knew _so_ many different card games and could build card towers _so_ high with his mechanical arm, and Renee send warnings ( _not sure, but I think there’s going to be a loud noise in a few seconds_ ) until he caved and answered Fuse’s offer for a quick game of poker over some whiskey. They were on the same floor, though mercifully separated by multiple units and on opposite sides of the hall. Caustic knew he would never be grateful enough for it. 

The door was unlocked, because Fuse apparently did not care about safety when he wasn’t present _or_ privacy when he was, so Caustic knocked twice as warning and let himself in.

“Did anyone else take you up on this?”

“Nope.” He popped the _p._ Caustic found him infuriating. “Just you, doctor.” 

“Hm.” Fuse’s room was stuffed with old trophies; his Bonecage champion belt was in a frame on the wall, but the glass cover was entirely shattered. A commemorative Fuse shot glass sat on his nightstand on a _Mirage_ alarm clock, which Caustic regrettably knew was a housewarming gift. The only ones who actually _used_ them were Natalie and Ramya, who he assumed found them amusing enough to overcome the irritation. 

And Fuse, apparently. 

“Five card draw. I’m sure you know how to play,” Fuse drawled from his place at the head of the table. It was one of the basic ones Legends had in their apartments on the complex, sturdy enough to withstand accidentally being sat on or tossed across the room once or twice (but never a third; with the amount of times Revenant’s had been replaced, the math was simple) but plain and rather small. A deck of cards sat in the center, Fuse himself framed by a scattered minefield of tumblers and glasses. He barely ever got drunk, Caustic had learned. He was satisfied in letting others get wasted until they were willing to let him talk at them until they sobered up enough to totter on home or Elliott kicked them out. 

He was careful, which wasn’t something Caustic had anticipated, but with that knowledge and Fuse’s remarkably steady hands he could extrapolate that all those glasses were old except for two squat whiskey tumblers; one on Caustic’s side of the table, and one on Fuse’s. 

“And why don’t we up the ante just a little bit, yeah? Salvonian strip, if you’re up for it.”

“Strip poker,” Caustic echoed flatly, met with a dazzling grin that he already knew he would cave to. 

“Only if you’ve got the stones. Not like I haven’t seen you in all your glory before, doc. No shame about it.”

Caustic played poker rarely, and with the “usual suspects,” as Witt so charmingly called them; Anita, Elliott, Renee, and now Ramya making an appearance occasionally. Elliott emptied out the cash register at the end of the day and let them bet with that. Caustic would have questioned about whether he worried about them stealing, but…

Fuse was still staring him down, easy grin fixed in place. 

“Fine. You will lock the door, however. We will _not_ be interrupted.”

Fuse hopped up and sidled past Caustic to the door, locking it with an exaggerated _click._

“Right you are, mate. Can’t have some poor unsuspecting soul come wandering in for a pint and getting an eyeful of your _shapely_ arse, now, can we?”

His eyebrows wiggled obscenely. Caustic ignored the barefaced flirting to focus instead on Fuse’s overconfidence. “Implying that you’ll be the one winning.”

“What can I say? I’ve got good luck.”

Fuse stopped his peacocking around to drop down into his chair, taking a sip of whiskey and gesturing that Caustic should do the same.

Fuse’s luck then proceeded to be absolutely unbelievable; some lucky breaks got his jacket and shirt off, but then Fuse gambled Caustic _somehow_ down to his slacks without even a breath for air or a break for another drink. Save for the short glasses of whiskey, neither of them were more than pleasantly warm and loose enough to continue the one-sided game.

As Caustic lost his belt and then his slacks, though, he was starting to doubt that Fuse was simply lucky. 

“You’re cheating,” he accused flatly. Fuse grinned at him, bright white teeth glittering in the scant light. 

“I wouldn’t do such a thing!”

“And now you’re _lying,”_ he pushed, shoving his chair out and standing. Fuse held both hands up as if to appease, to defend his innocence, but the sly twinkle in his eye only proved just how pleased he was at the sudden turn of events. He didn’t even pretend to swat Caustic’s hand away when he yanked _him_ up from his own chair, merely following gamely along while cheerfully protesting the whole way to the bed. 

“Hey, now, you wouldn’t just--” 

Caustic cut him off with a hand at the back of his neck, pinning him down to the patterned sheets. Fuse laughed into the comforter and halfheartedly thrashed into a more comfortable position, bracing himself against the mattress. “Guess you would.”

“You’re testing my patience, Fitzroy.”

“You’re not even gonna let me make my case?” He twisted against the sheets to look at Caustic in a way that Caustic assumed was supposed to be innocent and pleading and looked entirely out of place on Fuse’s face. Caustic assumed he’d never been innocent a day in his life. 

“No.” 

Caustic knew from the outset that this would in no way dissuade Fuse from cheating the next time Caustic inevitably took him up on an offer to toss some cards around, but the man’s insistent squirming against him was far more teasing and sensual than it had ever been concerned and— well, Caustic did not delude himself that they were only ever going to play cards. Fuse was a predictable man, and while Caustic continued to benefit from that he would take no offense. 

“I don’t take kindly to cheaters.”

Fuse snickered into the mattress and then gave a surprised _oof_ as Caustic’s hand collided with his jean-clad rear. With Caustic’s other hand tightly on his nape, he couldn’t do much but wriggle ineffectually in the sheets. Caustic was a patient man. He pushed down a bolt of insistent arousal, the urge to yank Fuse’s pants down and get to the part they were _both_ waiting for, but he wouldn’t be satisfied by that and neither would Fuse. Just like the card game, this was calculated. Down to his boxers it wasn’t as if Fuse didn’t _know,_ either, Caustic’s growing hardness pressed against his hip as Caustic weighed him down against the bed. Even with that, Fuse managed to rise onto the balls of his feet enough to wave his backside enticingly. In the position he was in, it made the denim of his jeans cling to his skin and outline the contour of his ass. 

“Go on, then. I’ve been a bad, _bad_ boy.” 

Caustic smacked him again. Fuse wiggled and jutted his hips up.

“You’ve got a firm hand, but I don’t know if your soul’s quite into it!” 

Caustic grit his teeth and growled. While the goal was _not_ to thrash Fuse out of his mind even if the other man could take it, if he was going to continue with this insistent, insufferable lip Caustic could oblige and go harder.

The next spank was harder, producing a sharp cracking noise even muffled by Fuse’s jeans, and made the man jump. Caustic noted the response, noted the breath that followed and the formulation of a snarky quip, and hit him again before he could.

Fuse hissed and turned his face into the sheets. _Much_ better, Caustic thought to himself. After a few more testing swats he’d figured out where Fuse was most sensitive— right above his thighs, slightly inward, a place not used to getting hit— he decided that it was time to move forward. Fuse groaned, a harsh, breathy sound of arousal and discomfort as Caustic yanked his jeans down around his thighs, and helpfully shimmied until they fell to his boots.

Fuse’s briefs had little bombs on them. Caustic did not find it funny. He snapped the waistband against Fuse’s back and watched how the man shoved forward against the mattress, muscles of his back straining as he fruitlessly fought against Caustic’s iron grip, and didn’t wait for him to stop with the theatrics before smacking him again. Fuse did a lot of running and lifting and was in remarkable shape for a man of his age, and while the tight pants did help sculpt him his rear was perfectly fine on its own merits. There was a slight bounce every time Caustic’s hand connected, and when Fuse fought against his jeans to try and kick it certainly drew the eye elsewhere. 

“Perhaps this will teach you,” Caustic grumbled. He was so hard in his boxers that he could feel a taunting wet spot grinding against the head of his cock whenever he shifted, whenever Fuse jerked under his weight and he had to hold him down more firmly. “Though I doubt it.”

Fuse only lasted a few more heavier blows, cracking hard against the thin fabric of his briefs, before allowing his resolve to slip.

“Mercy! I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll turn my life around! I’ll be squeaky clean from here on out!” Fuse bawled dramatically into the messy sheets, tossing his hips from side to side as if to avoid each stinging impact of Caustic’s hand. 

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

Caustic hooked his fingers in Fuse’s ridiculous briefs and tugged them down until they were around his legs with his jeans. While Fuse’s ass was a toasty pink from the experience it was nowhere near the glowing red Caustic wanted it to be. He groped a healthy handful of the warm flesh, kneading and pulling it to the side to reveal Fuse’s tight hole, clenched in excitement and anticipation. _Soon._ Fuse arched his back and rocked more of his ass into Caustic’s waiting hand, breathing out harshly through his nose at the hot discomfort but chasing it regardless, and Caustic once again fought the urge to just fuck him. 

Patience. _Patience_ was key, and his own resolve was not going to buckle to some moustachioed brat. 

Fuse had only just stopped wiggling around when Caustic landed a hard, mean swat, and that spurred him into another spurt of struggle as Caustic rained down a punishing series of blows that had Fuse squawking in pain. Real pain, not the overblown dramatic discomfort he’d been playacting at earlier. Fuse’s cock was hard between his legs, poking out a bit from where it was pushed against the mattress, and Caustic only paused to pay attention to it when Fuse’s ass was a painful-looking shade of deep, deep red. His skin radiated heat against Caustic’s palm; the man himself was groaning around a mouthful of comforter. 

Caustic decided to take mercy on him, deeming _that_ penitent enough. He pulled back to look around the room. 

“Where’s your supplies?” 

Fuse raised his head, face sweaty and red, long enough to croak out “the bar” before dropping his cheek back down to the blankets. The unintentionally disheveled look fit him much better than the intentional one, Caustic thought idly as he picked out a tube of lube and a condom, stepping out of his boxers and leaving them over by the table with his other clothes. 

“Get your clothes off,” he commanded the flushed, sweaty lump on the bed. Fuse groaned but obeyed and kicked his cowboy boots off to the side, and much more delicately toeing his jeans and briefs off. 

“Roll over onto your back.” He rolled the condom down on his cock, making sure it was snug and secure, and slathered some lube in his hand. Fuse whined in protest, stretching both arms over his head to tangle in the sheets. “Unless you’d like to give me more of an opportunity to tan your hide, Fitzroy.”

“I’m rolling!” Fuse yelped, and yelped a little more as he levered himself over onto his back. “I’m rollin’, mate!” 

“That’s what I thought,” Caustic couldn’t resist the smug snipe as he took his place between Fuse’s legs. The intense redness of his rear crept up his thighs, fading into irritated pink and then the softer, tanned peach of his flesh, dark body hairs starting around his knees. Fuse lifted his legs up to allow Caustic closer. He had to be burning and sore; Caustic did not consider himself a sadist, necessarily, only that so much of his work required pain to culminate in a satisfactory result, but if this was much in the same way…

He allowed the thought to sit, hot and satisfied, as he pushed slowly into Fuse’s tight hole. The man squirmed under him, mouth half-open to pant, eye glimmering and half-shut. His cheeks were still red and the flush spread all the way to his ears; all the way down his neck, almost to his chest to get lost in curly brown hair. Caustic gave him a few moments to adjust. 

“It didn’t take long to make you change your tune,” he observed. Fuse curled his toes and tipped his head back, and Caustic couldn’t help it; his throat looked deceptively long and slender when he stretched out like that, and his hand was already warm and stinging. It wrapped neatly around Fuse’s throat and he pressed. 

To his surprise, Fuse moaned; a loud, excited noise, joined by his hips jerking against the sheets. 

“Fascinating,” Caustic breathed. “One would think you’re _enjoying_ this.”

Fuse moaned out something unintelligible and thrashed against Caustic’s grip, once again doing absolutely nothing to truly try and free himself. “Are you? I think you are.” 

The harsh, wet sound of flesh on flesh filled the apartment, the bed creaking in protest. Fuse’s legs shook from where they were held up in a mixture of pain and strain and— Caustic knew— pleasure. Fuse’s _face_ was sweaty and he was almost grinning past a grimace. “I think the only thing you like more than pushing is when someone pushes _back._ Isn’t that right?”

The loud, strangled moan was all the answer he needed. His hand clamped down hard around Fuse’s throat, well and truly cutting off his air, and he rammed into the man until Fuse was loudly trying and failing to gasp; his eye rolled back and he tossed his head, making noises that rumbled in his chest as they both approached climax. He wrapped his other hand around Fuse’s cock and jerked him roughly, messily, feeling the other man’s body writhing underneath him as they tipped over the edge. 

Caustic didn’t want to accidentally choke the man out, though, as that would be a decidedly unsexy and potentially lethal way to end what had been thus far a thoroughly enjoyable evening. He lifted his hand from Fuse’s throat to allow him to gasp and sputter, gulping down air and wheezing out breath. 

“Fuck,” he wheezed a few times, and coughed a few times for good measure. 

“I take it you’ve learned your lesson _now,_ ” Caustic asked flatly. He pulled out and tugged the condom off while Fuse crossed his legs and squirmed fully onto the bed, stretching out and taking as much pressure off of his ass as possible. 

“Dunno, mate.” Fuse looked over his shoulder as Caustic tied the condom off and tossed it in the trash. “Reckon we should play some more cards tomorrow night and you can make that call then.”

Caustic smiled, then, well-aware of how unsettling it could look to someone who didn’t want it. “I will, without a doubt.” 

He hoped that he was right about Fuse. The man _never_ learned.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed this fic!


End file.
